


Standard Deviation

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Author can't write, Denial of Feelings, Doctor Aziraphale, For Science!, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Research Partner Crowley, this is a masters of sex AU, you don't need to have seen the series to read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-25 04:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Aziraphale enjoyed pastries and tartan, and despite the obscene nature of his work, never cursed. Crowley enjoyed loud music, cigarettes, and his Bentley. It worked out, their relationship being strictly professional.Or, the Masters of Sex AU nobody asked for.





	1. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance.

Aziraphale (the name being a result of parents who he referred to as ‘bible nuts’) was a considerably cutoff person, one not too sure how to come to terms with his own emotions. It could have been his parents - being shunned when he left for university due to his dedication to science. You just couldn’t rely on God, not when it came to things that required universal proof. 

How the sex thing started? He wasn’t quite sure himself. Aziraphale decided, after becoming a doctor and setting himself up in a hospital, that his true passion was to unlock the secrets of human sexuality. He thought that maybe sex - if he could just understand that one thing, he could find a purpose. He could _mean something_, something so much bigger than himself. In the sixties, human sexuality was a largely under-analyzed field of study and Aziraphale wanted to dive into that unknown realm of possibilities - the endless amount of room for discovery was incredible. _What was sex, really?_ The stages of physical response, the different forms of stimulation, what did it all mean? How could you capture it, jolt it down physically, make it tangible? It was his burning passion to pioneer into the depths of it all.

He wasn’t looking for a partner when he came across Anthony Crowley. They met at a pub, surprisingly enough. It was in close proximity to the hospital and an area Aziraphale frequented regularly when he fancied a drink. He took a sip of his scotch, wincing at its strength as he eyed the man a few stools down who had been watching him for a while. He was dressed… unconventionally, all in black, adhering to the slowly emerging ‘punk’ era. His fiery red hair stood up and his circular sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale found the sunglasses most unusual, especially inside the dimly lit pub. He hadn’t realized he zoned out until the man was gone and a voice came from behind him.

“Doctor Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale spun around, sitting up properly and adjusting his bowtie. It was the man.

“I’m Crowley.”

“Quite an unusual name.”

“Says you. It’s Anthony Crowley, but I don’t like _Anthony._” He spat the name out like it was acid burning on his tongue. 

Crowley extended an arm and Aziraphale remarked during their handshake that their hands seemed to fit together perfectly. Crowley’s palm was rough and his fingers had calluses, contrary to Aziraphale’s own soft and tender hand. It was one of those perfect polar opposite situations. 

“What can I do for you, Crowley?” He asked cautiously, withdrawing his hand. His eyes followed Crowley as he took a seat on the stool next to him, slouching against the counter.

“I was wondering about your study.”

It was abnormal for someone to approach him about his study so openly. Especially given how it was still quite under wraps, only an odd number of hospital staff aware of what went on in his exam room after-hours. “Oh, I see. Are you wanting to volunteer?”

“No, actually. At least not in the way you’re thinking. I want to work with you.”

They continued their conversation from there, Crowley sharing his similar passion for understanding human sexuality and making a discovery. He was currently working on obtaining a degree in psychology. 

“I have to think about it.” Aziraphale said later that evening, after the two of them had shared likely one too many drinks.

And that’s where it all began. Flash forward to a few months later and Aziraphale and Crowley, who he deemed his research partner, have become a duo with a solid partnership. Aziraphale enjoyed pastries and tartan, and despite the obscene nature of his work, never cursed. Crowley enjoyed loud music, cigarettes, and his Bentley. It worked out, their relationship being strictly professional. They would sit in Aziraphale’s office into the late hours of the night reviewing notes and talking about whatever crossed their minds. For the first time in his life, Aziraphale felt like he had a connection with someone. 

Instead of simply asking people about their sex lives, Aziraphale and Crowley actually observed volunteers engaging in self-stimulation and sexual intercourse. They had been criticized for their lax methodology and ethical standards, but it was truly just work to the both of them. They were no perverts, it was simply what needed to be done to obtain the purest results, all their volunteers completely consenting. There was no… attachment to the work, whether it be sexual or emotional. They didn’t squirm in their seats, their breath didn’t hitch, and their pants never felt too tight. They simply sat there, jotting down notes.

“Oh, bugger!” Aziraphale slammed down the phone one night and shouted rather harshly. He furiously reorganized the papers on his desk.

“What’s your problem?” Crowley quirked an eyebrow from the other side of the desk, tilting down his glasses. Aziraphale didn’t get around to asking why he always wore them. 

“The, erm, volunteer we were expecting cancelled. I really wanted that data tonight for comparison.” They had no one scheduled for the remainder of the night and Aziraphale had planned to compare notes throughout the evening. Thanks, Patient J-93842! 

“Data for…?” Crowley prompted. 

“Self-stimulation. Male, that is. I needed it to compare to the woman’s data that we collected the other night and -”

“No problem.” He said simply, standing up suddenly and heading towards the exam room.

Aziraphale quickly followed behind him. “What are you doing?” Because there was no way in Hell he was about to do what he was thinking of.

Then without any hesitation, Crowley started to undo the buttons to his lab coat, letting it fall to the ground. Aziraphale gulped, too taken aback to form a sentence. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and swung it off in a single swift movement, tossing it carelessly behind him. Aziraphale could see the line of public hair trailing underneath his trousers and felt his blood run cold.

Crowley worked at the buckle of his belt and Aziraphale admired his shape. He was all hard at the edges, in the very places where Aziraphale was soft. They could fit together like a lock and a key he thought, rather poetically. It was just a thought, though. It meant nothing. 

“You needed data, right?” Crowley offered. “Masturbatory data? With a male?” He began kicking off his characteristically tight jeans. 

Aziraphale could only open his mouth then promptly close it.

“Why not me? If it’s an intake form issue, I’m glad to fill one out afterwards.” Crowley continued casually, _innocently_.

Aziraphale was being ridiculous, really. There was no reason why Crowley couldn’t be a subject, especially if he was offering willingly. It was probably nothing but a quick wank to him. Aziraphale watched this sort of stuff all the time, why should this be any different? “Right,” he began, gesturing to the door behind him, “I’ll just go back -”

“Just stay here, Aziraphale. We both know the observations are easier this way and I don’t mind you watching.” 

There was a bed in the exam room, which is where the experiments took place. He pitied the bed, really, as it had been through a lot. When Crowley was fully nude, Aziraphale became paralyzed, his gaze following him as he climbed into the bed and taped the wires to his chest. He could not look away, not for his own life. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley’s voice jolted him out of his trance.

He had to get it together. This was work. He wasn’t - he wasn’t _attracted_ to Crowley. No, he had his study and that was his sole priority. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tore his eyes away, mentally trying to restart his brain and steer it back into a professional setting. He grabbed a chair, seated himself by the bed, set his clipboard in his lap and clicked the stopwatch in his hand. “Begin.”

Crowley slid a hand down to his cock and Aziraphale refused to look anywhere apart from his clipboard. He gripped his pen, hands perspiring, and began to scribble anxiously. He wasn’t writing notes, that’s what the wires were for, he was just scribbling outright nonsense. Anything, anything but looking up. The room was silent, filled only with the sound of his pen scratching against paper and Crowley’s ragged breaths. A few minutes later and Aziraphale couldn’t resist the temptation. He allowed his gaze to trail from his clipboard, down to his brown Oxfords, and up to the bed. That, he would decide later, was _definitely_ a mistake.

Crowley laid there, propped up on one elbow, and stroked himself. His cheeks were flushed and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he sucked in a shuddering breath. Then he met his eyes.

His sunglasses were off and his eyes were absolutely _gorgeous_. They were an amber color he had never seen, almost inhuman, with one pupil significantly more dilated than the other. They were incredibly unique and Aziraphale couldn’t understand why the man was so desperate to hide them. Or maybe he just thought the shades were cool.

Crowley’s eyes were clouded with something devious that made a shiver crawl down Aziraphale’s spine. It was lust. He was looking at him with such intensity, picking up his pace, and Aziraphale felt his own abonmen twitch. 

Crowley let out a low moan, the kind Aziraphale would after a bite of magnificent sushi. He felt his chest rising and falling and had to look away after that, otherwise he may have just lost himself. He averted his gaze back to his clipboard, his face burning as he stared down at his lap. He couldn’t think of Crowley promiscuous and flushed face. Absolutely not. He _had_ to, for the love of God, be professional. 

“Look at me.” Crowley choked out suddenly and Aziraphale’s mind blanked. _Did he really just -_

“Look at me, Aziraphale.” He said again, _pleaded_, and this time Aziraphale obeyed, their eyes locking together for a second time.

“Fuck.” Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale imagined his tongue working at Crowley’s cock instead of his own hand, those damned eyes staring down at him as Crowley would grab a fistful of his tousled blonde hair, thrusting into his mouth. He imagined the noises Crowley would make _then_. The heat was building in the pit of his stomach. He did not look away, not for a second, and wanted so desperately to touch himself. 

“_Aziraphale_.” Crowley croaked barely above a whisper and Aziraphale looked down to watch as he spilled over his hand.

They stayed like that for a moment, Aziraphale seated uncomfortably in his chair, Crowley on the bed. The only sound was their irregular panting. _Jesus Christ_.

After a few more breaths, Aziraphale stood up abruptly. He had to turn it off - whatever he was feeling, he could absolutely _not_ be feeling. Crowley was his coworker, for one. What had just happened meant nothing and Crowley was obviously just excited in the spur of the moment. He knew the man likely felt nothing for him and really, there could have been anyone sitting in that seat and it wouldn’t have gone down any other way.

It was arousal, isn’t that how it worked? Sex could be blinding, and when one is in such a state, they may feel things that aren’t genuine. He wasn’t attracted to Crowley and vice versa - they were simply colleagues and nothing more. It was best to understand that now before becoming invested.

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale tried to appear as collected as possible, the hoarseness of his own voice startling him. “You did… good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from a mos episode, not too sure how it ties in with the story but whatever.
> 
> thank u nik for letting me bounce ideas off of u!!!


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was just a wank, one that was vital to science, really._

Crowley’s ‘volunteer work’ for the study wasn't mentioned for a solid four weeks. Aziraphale got the data he needed, and for that he was grateful. It was that simple, wasn’t it? Crowey would strut into his office doing that God forsaken walk that made Aziraphale swallow uncomfortably hard and they would get to work. Things were normal - they rode the wave of a routine, one that was familiar and one they both seemed content with. 

“What’s on the menu tonight, doc?” Crowley said teasingly one evening, reclining back in a chair. _Why couldn’t he ever sit properly, just once?_ It was a ‘Crowley’ thing, and Aziraphale remarked that there seemed to be many ‘Crowley things’. The man had a defiant personality after all. It was his clothes, consistently black all the time, whether it be a leather jacket or a button-up. It was his strut, the way his ungodly hips would sway as he walked across the room, his long legs practically tripping over each other. It was the way he’d legitimately _hiss_ when he spoke? Was that normal? He didn’t care. In all honesty, Aziraphale found himself loving all of Crowley’s quirks, although he would never admit that upfront. He could have thoughts, of course he could. It was just a matter of silent admiration which meant absolutely nothing beyond what it was.

“Tonight,” he scrambled to review his notes, “Oh. Tonight we had assisted stimulation but no one scheduled.” He knew it was Crowley’s job to take care of appointments, but it had to have been just an honest mistake. Slip-ups like this were bound to occur once in a while, surely this wasn’t on _purpose_.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and he knew damn well what Crowley was thinking. Christ, he was thinking the same thing. Another time couldn’t possibly hurt - it was in the name of science and for Aziraphale, science was above all. It always came first.

“Shame.” Crowley stated after a calculated pause, pouting comically. Of course he was heading towards the exam room without hesitation, and _of course_ Aziraphale found himself trailing behind him eagerly. Alright, they were doing this. Again.

“So, you don’t mind…” Crowley began, already slipping off his white lab coat as the two of them stood in the middle of the exam room. 

“No, I need the results.” It _was_ true, to be entirely fair. They had loads of masturbatory data, but not much involving a subject receiving a handjob. Oral sex? Definitely, probably more data than necessary, but one person and strictly another pair of hands? It could be interesting. Aziraphale went to the corner of the room to retrieve a pair of blue latex gloves, because he wasn’t going to _not_ use them - he was a doctor, and this was for the study, hence the wires Crowley attached to his nearly hairless chest once he undressed.

This time, Crowley went for the chair and not the bed. It was a dental engine, and Aziraphale wasn’t too sure exactly how it ended up in the room, but it came in recurring use. If the bed setting felt too intimate for a volunteer, that was always their second option. _It’s like going to the dentist_, Crowley would reassure an especially nervous person. Aziraphale never understood why he said that because frankly, dentists weren’t very calming, not in the least. In fact they were a doctor’s hereditary enemy. 

Crowley reclined slightly in the chair and Aziraphale stood next to him, rolling up his sleeves, his reading glasses pushed up to the top of his head. He could do this. He pulled back a glove, stretching out his fingers and letting it go with a slap against his wrist. He flicked on the stopwatch, setting it down on the table behind him. “Begin.” He announced, mostly to himself as he reached for Crowley.

“How should I do this?” He asked, his voice quivering beyond his control.

“It doesn’t matter,” Crowley nodded, “I’ll tell you what feels good.”

Aziraphale trailed a hand up from Crowley’s chest and down to his cock. There was a gasp, but he couldn’t tell you if it was Crowley gasping in pleasure or him gasping in shock to find the man was already hard. Aziraphale swallowed and began stroking him leisurely. 

He tried to not meet Crowley’s eyes, but it was truly inevitable. They looked up at each other at the same moment and Aziraphale could feel his stomach swarm. A heat pooled within him, one that made him shift his weight from one leg to the other anxiously. Crowley had his sunglasses off again, making this the second time that Aziraphale had a chance to admire his eyes. His thumb teased Crowley’s head, swiping a drop of precum, then he picked up his pace remarkably. It was just a wank, one that was vital to science, really.

“You have beautiful eyes, Crowley.” He found himself saying after a while before his mind could catch up with his mouth. Crowley groaned ever so slightly when Aziraphale spoke, which he found rather fascinating. The pair of them were working on a human sexual response cycle, their current draft containing four different stages. Right now, given his erratic breathing and flushed face, Aziraphale estimated that Crowley was experiencing the plateau phase, roughly summed up as the act of physical arousal prior to the orgasmic stage. This wasn’t enough, he wanted to do so much _more_ to Crowley. He could stop his movements right now, make him _beg._ He could -

“M’close.” Crowley mumbled, thrusting into Aziraphale’s grasp. “Tell me… ‘bout my eyes again, please.” He begged hoarsely, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. 

Ah. “They’re gorgeous, Crowley. You don’t have to hide them from me, I think they’re absolutely beautiful.”

Another moan was drawn from him and Aziraphale felt very, very hot. He was definitely getting way too into this and didn’t have enough sensibility to remind himself that attachment was dangerous. Crowley was close then, entering the orgasmic phase, knees buckling slightly. He was coming undone and it was all dependent on Aziraphale - he was _controlling_ him. “There you go, you’re doing so good, dear. You’re doing so good _for me_.”

“Mmm, angel.” Then he was coming on Aziraphale’s gloved hand and his own stomach, surging up into the doctor’s touch, his hips arched and a breathless groan escaping him. 

As Crowley went through the resolution phase, Aziraphale couldn’t stop _thinking_. The word ‘angel’ bounced off his mind and echoed throughout the entirety of his being like some sort of benediction. _Angel! Angel? Angel._

Crowley sat up straight. “That was…”

“Good?”

“Nah, was brilliant.”

And oh, if Crowley liked _that_, then he had _no idea_ what else Aziraphale wanted to do to him. But that train of thought was nothing less than ridiculous. “I just, you know, I needed the data. How was… I mean, the sensation of someone else’s hand, is it better than…?”

“I think anything is more exciting than basic self-stimulation, but it could be different for everyone.” And Crowley was walking across the room to retrieve his black boxers. Of course they were black.

“Right.” Aziraphale held the clipboard over his crotch to hide his own aching arousal. It would go away, it was just a… human reaction. 

When Crowley was fully dressed, they continued comparing data through the night, Crowley’s own being merely a number. That’s all it was - a number, a statistic, nothing personal. It would never be anything personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe i guess im doing this. longer chapters to come i promise.


End file.
